


The Wanderer

by Astray



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: All things end, and Fox is wandering in the ruins. Seeking oblivion, and a last glance at what he had lost.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	The Wanderer

He was wandering in the remnants of a dying star, at the heart of a decaying world - in the dedalus of his own mind. There was no one to save him, no one to take his hand, no one to bring him out of the darkness that had gradually choked life from the very fabric of his existence until he was nothing but a brittle husk, and nothing like the man he had once been. 

If he had ever been a man. He was not even sure anymore. 

He remembered things, he remembers touches and words and soothing voices and the crashes and explosions and the disdain and the hatred and the rage and that instant of blissful nothingness that should have been the end. 

But he had been brought back to wander. And so he roamed, the world so different and yet achingly unchanging. 

But they were all gone. All his brothers were gone. All of them. Some he remembered losing, others he somehow had seen fading. 

But there was something that nagged at his mind, like the fragments of a spiderweb on his face in an attic - invisible yet ever so present. A voice, different from the others, touches, burning and cooling his skin. A sensation of being whole and not alone. Wolffe. 

Fox remembered. He remembered the pain of not knowing if Wolffe was alive. He remembered Wolffe’s last message to him, and the tightness around his shattering heart as though his ribs were clutching it in their claws - a farewell that was just another lie no doubt. Wolffe was alive, Fox had known then, and he had said nothing. It was a betrayal and Fox’s mind had begun unravelling then, when nothing else that had happened could have brought him to his knees. 

The one he had loved so deeply, so absolutely, was gone, and Fox could not join him, As Fox had not been able to follow Thorn - in life or death. As Fox had seen as though in a daze Fives go down - he had done his duty, had reacted as he had been trained to do, but why had it felt so wrong had only become clear too late. 

Fox would be grateful for Vader’s anger, for it caused his chip to malfunction. But now that he remembered, now that he knew, he had no escape from the pain and in itself, it was more cruel than any death he could have been given. 

And so Fox ever wandered, dead to all, watching as his vode were progressively replaced, bidding his time until no one remembered his name, his face, until his very identification number was little more than a blot - a blight - on records. And only then did he leave, carrying the dying star of his heart and the blackened dust of his hope away with him, as the sole reminders of who he had been. 

His armour he had altered, until nothing could mark him as a commander, as a clone. And he left, carrying his burden, where to he had no idea. All he knew was that he hoped against hope to find Wolffe - and look at him one last time. Only death would free him now, and there was nothing else he wanted than oblivion. But he did not want to be alone. He wanted - yearned - for a last look into those eyes that had once showed him so much devotion - showed him how much he had mattered. He wanted to see him, even if all he would see was bitter hatred, because it was better than nothing. Better than the void that was eating at him, chipping at his mind with each step. 

Until death finally freed him, Fox would wander, nameless to all, even to his own mind, a shadow amidst shades. He was not sure where he found the strength, but desperation gave resources even to the weakest. 

He had not expected to find him. Finding them. But he did. He had hoped to, but he had dreaded and had secretly wished that he would have died before. But he had found them. Rex had seen him first, and Fox had stayed where he was, near his speeder. And he was pierced by the pain he saw on Rex’s face - he knew it had to be there. And then Wolffe turned. 

Fox wished he had died, as the memories flooded back, and recognition passed between them and the anguish and pain and fear and love and excruciating loneliness tore through him. Realizing that he had truly lost everything. He had lost everything. He was naked in the desert and the sand was rising and he did not move, even as he knew that the desert would flay the flesh from his bones and leave him as empty as he felt. 

He had not expected a hand to hold him, because he had gone too long without it. He had not expected the sands to part from him. He had wanted pain and blissful darkness. Denied.

The sands did not grant him oblivion - his name spoken softly by the voice that had soothed him and haunted him all these years. Home is where the heart is, and he found his heart again. Hope had been crushed out of him. Forgiveness had been denied back then, but maybe, just maybe, things would change. After all, he had found Wolffe - and Wolffe had found him again. Maybe in time he would find himself again, in a desert where decay was halted. 

Far away from the world where he thought his soul had died. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written during a sprint. No beta. We typo like troopers.


End file.
